


Rose Trellis

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy IX
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrix comes to terms with Kuja, the usurper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose Trellis

Curiosity was the one aspect of Beatrix's nature that she had never been able to properly regiment. So when Queen Brahne received a strange tall foreigner in her throne room, Beatrix stared at him a bit more than was seemly for the General of Alexandria. It was likely that no one really noticed her staring, however, because she was the Queen's honorary guard, she'd earned the post and her weapon as a gift from a younger Brahne whose life she had saved and her sword was aptly named Save The Queen. Beatrix stroked the pommel of her sword, where it rested in its sheathe at her side and watched the man approach with an unsettling unearthly grace. He was dressed in an obscene manner, large expanses of smooth pale flesh exposed all over his body, silver hair cascading down his back and threaded with silver feathers. A courtier, soft and easy to reduce to mincemeat, Beatrix wagered. Where had he come from and what did he want?

"You desire an audience with me?" Queen Brahne leered at the pale man, fascinated by his silver and lavender silk finery no doubt. The Queen loved her gauds and fripperies, although the more catty of Beatrix's knights observed in giggles that none of it enhanced her appearance in the slightest. Beatrix hushed them, not because she disagreed, but because it was disrespectful and she would not have her knights speaking ill of the queen, especially not in their general's presence. What they said to their lovers and their families and friends about the Queen, about Alexandria, and about Beatrix herself was their own business, but she would not have them insult her to her face. And to insult Queen Brahne or Alexandria to Beatrix's face was much like insulting Beatrix herself.

"An audience, a consultation, a meeting of minds, a partnership," he bowed low to the ground and gracefully, so that his pristine silken sleeves swept the marble floor. He modulated his voice when he spoke, like an actor declaiming his lines. Beatrix narrowed her eyes. The Queen trilled out a giggle and waved a handkerchief in front of her face to catch the tears that formed in her eyes whenever she laughed.

"A partnership? You presume much, stranger. From what distant shores do you hail?" The Queen asked in her loud brassy voice. She was playing coy, flirting with the man. She was already enchanted. It was common knowledge that the Queen adored theatre. The man could have learned this in the first quayside pub he stepped into.

"I presume much because I have much to offer your Highness." The stranger paced forward several steps so that he could speak in a more normal tone of voice. His gestures were still theatrical. "It matters little from whence I come, Majesty. What matters more is what I bring." From out of one of his voluminous sleeves he drew something black and white and yellow, tugging at it hand over hand like a charlatan magician at a fair. His slender hands shook out the piece of fabric, revealing that it was an eerie puppet in a floppy straw hat with an expanse of darkness where its face should be and a pair of brilliant yellow eyes. It was dressed in a little blue coat and puffy white trousers, white boots and white gloves. Beatrix couldn't have pinned her finger on just what made the strange little moppet so uncanny, perhaps it was the eyes and their deep black setting, so dark it was impossible to tell if it was made of cloth or merely shadow. She shuddered.

"You offer me toys? Perhaps my daughter would like to play with your dolly, but she's rather outgrown such things at the age of fifteen." The Queen struck her thigh and belted out a horse-like whinnying laugh.

"Ah, but can your daughter's toys do this?" The man asked, extending the puppet's arms and then letting it go. Those yellow eyes lit up as if there were candles set behind them and the puppet, instead of toppling to the ground when the pale foreigner released its floppy arms, jerked forward, bending awkwardly halfway to the floor, and then stood up straight on its own. It staggered forward a few steps and brought its hands together as if it was praying.

"Very clever, puppeteer. I admit you've entertained me, so I shall not punish you for wasting my time in this manner. Perhaps you can perform a show for me this evening after dinner . . ." The Queen's voice trailed off as fire blossomed between the manikin's hands. Beatrix drew Save the Queen and gasped. She ran lightly forward off of the dias and grabbed the pale man's sleeve, angling her sword at his throat.

"If you wish to live, call off your golem," she shouted, her voice ringing clear as metal through the hall. The Alexandrian knights stepped forward from their positions in the shadows of the tall marble pillars lining the Queen's audience chamber and encircled the foreigner and his eccentric toy, their swords drawn and ready to taste blood. The marble floor doubled their number in reflection as they stood grimly about the threat to their kingdom.

When the man did not move instantly, Beatrix allowed her weapon to bite into his flesh. A drop of blood welled up on the tip of her sword and ran down its length. He hissed.

"It was merely a demonstration, my good General Beatrix." With a dramatic wave of his wrist the puppet collapsed into a heap of clothes again. Beatrix withdrew her sword from his smooth white throat, now marred with a smudge of red, but kept it levelled at his heart. The candlelight from the many chandeliers and candelabras reflected in his glittering defiant eyes.

"General Beatrix, call off your soldiers and let us hear what the gentleman has to say in his defence." The Queen's voice rang out in its usual imperial tones. She had not been shaken by the incident. The Queen's confidence was unwise. She could be very imprudent sometimes, especially when her curiosity was piqued. After surviving dangerous incidents in the past the Queen seemed to think she was invincible. Beatrix knew better. She motioned her knights back to their positions. Beatrix herself was beyond curiosity now. She had learned enough about the strange man and wished he would return to whatever exotic shore he hailed from.

The man's moth white hand fluttered to his neck and he eyed his red-smeared outstretched fingers with surprise.

"The rose has thorns," the man said softly, his voice pitched for Beatrix's ears alone. The seductive whisper poured down her spine like ice water. She sheathed her sword and returned with measured paces to her place beside the Queen.

"My Most Imperial Majesty, I, your humble subject Kuja, merely wished to demonstrate to you the effectiveness of my black mages," Kuja swept another self-effacing bow, so low that Beatrix thought his forehead nearly touched the ground. Now he was playing the unassuming servant, but Beatrix could see his cold eyes flashing, even in this role. She did not trust him.

"And what would I want with black mages, Kuja?" Brahne asked, laughing. "As you can see I have quite efficient and effective knights at my disposal."

"Yes quite effective, for mere throne-room guards. But what of for your vast campaigns, your Majesty. My mages are not swayed by paltry human consideration like emotion, hunger compassion and honour," Kuja spat the last at the marble floor as though it tasted most bitter indeed. Beatrix felt the chill of anger settling in her heart. How dare he belittle her knights for their humanity?

"My mages will never be felled by fatigue nor driven back by poor weather conditions. They will obey your every whim without question, your majesty," Kuja stared into Beatrix's eyes as he said this, as though reading her traitorous thoughts, as though he could see every time she had balked inwardly at her lady's commands. As though he knew how much she resented being beneath anyone's authority at all. She dearly wished to be able to close her eyes or to lower her head, but even such an infinitesimal action would concede defeat to this man with a serpent's grace. She blinked eventually and Kuja's gaze was focussed once more on Brahne.

"Campaigns? I have planned no campaigns," Brahne said, but rather than being affronted and angry she merely sounded interested.

"Oh, but you will." Kuja observed, smiling charmingly. "You _will_."

* * *

Beatrix stood at her now familiar post outside the Queen's chambers. At one time she would have been within them, discussing affairs of state with Brahne, such affairs as it was necessary to discuss in peace-loving Alexandria during Queen Brahne's reign.

Queen Brahne's reign had not always been peaceful, however, and it seemed as though it would no longer peaceful remain. Although Beatrix was not present in the Queen's chambers during these intense strategy planning sessions with Kuja she had her ways of getting information. Strange things were afoot in Frontier town Dali. They were no longer farming but shipping curiously designed casks to Alexandria Castle, casks, which, once examined by a loyal knight, proved to contain cunningly boxed puppets, black mages, as Kuja called them, all of their eyes slick and bright, but not lit up, although Beatrix sensed they were on the verge of being lit the whole time she spent breathlessly refastening the box with fumbling fingers and returning it to its cask.

Lately, Beatrix was restless. She paced in front of the Queen's door with manic intensity, her eyes burning into the polished wood then scorching the air in all directions, scanning for trouble. She felt trapped and unappreciated, but her loyalty to Alexandria would not waver, not because of Kuja. Her armor clanked together faintly with every turn she took in front of the Queen's door. Her boot tips were pointing back towards the doors when they opened, admitting Kuja's elegant silk-clad figure.

"Good evening, General Beatrix," he said nodding at her. He was always impeccably polite to her, being careful never to phrase the Queen's directions, or his initiatives as orders, but always as requests.

"What are you gaining from all of this Kuja? What are your motives?" Beatrix asked him bluntly, her nerves too frayed for soft silken words.

"Now is the time to take the leading role, Beatrix, to stride with firm and even tread across the stage of Gaia, never hesitating for whispered prompts from the wings. We must become heroes, heroes in our own play." His voice became deeper and richer as he elaborated on his theme and his eyes glowed with amusement and charm.

"Don't hand me that rubbish," Beatrix narrowed her eyes at him. "I am not besotted with your constant harping on the theme of theatre. I am not Brahne and you do not dance the strings of my actions. Nor will you, as long as I draw breath." Her hand was gripping her sword hilt so tightly that her fingers had gone numb.

"General," Kuja said to her, his blue eyes sharp with warnings, sharp as spears, "you are distraught. You have been too long at your post. Would you please accompany me on a walk along the battlements? I find it refreshing to take in the night breeze, don't you?" It was phrased as a request, but it was an order all the same and should Beatrix wish to retain the little influence she still had in Alexandria she would have to accede to this man's wishes. She nodded curtly and followed him through the corridor, pausing only to direct Sir Lolite to take her post for the evening.

When they were standing out on the battlements of Alexandria Castle, watching the torchlight spread out in fiery points across the water like gleaming javelins, Kuja turned towards Beatrix gravely. She stood stiffly at his side and did not meet his eyes, although she could feel that he was staring at her now.

"Should you wish it, General Beatrix, I can keep you informed of the contents of my meetings with the Queen."

"Whether you wish it or not, Kuja, I will discover the contents of your meetings for my own," she responded, tightly, gripping her sword hilt again.

"It is not my will that you are excluded from these conferences, General," he said gently, softly. Beatrix bristled. How dare he handle her with kid gloves, as though she were only worthy of his pity?

"It is Brahne's wish then and I am loyal to my Queen."

"Yes, loyal to the letter, General, but you needn't be loyal to the point of stupidity and blindness. I know what it is to be constrained beneath another's rule and yet to be worthy and more than worthy of ruling over all. A pity that rulers are not chosen merely by worth but also by birth, is it not?" Beatrix kept her eyes trained on the black water and gripped the stone parapet.

"I am not worthy to rule Alexandria," she whispered as the wind blew a strand of her hair into her mouth.

"You are worthy of ruling Gaia," Kuja murmured, brushing the hair away from her lips, his slender fingers tracing the curves of them. Beatrix slapped his wrist away from her mouth.

"I am a knight," she retorted, glaring at him now. Kuja's wide blue eyes looked entirely guileless; he tucked his own silvery hair behind his ears.

"You could be more, much more," he said, "but I forget myself. I was offering you the Queen's plans. She is preparing an army of black mages to annex Burmecia to the royal Alexandrian empire, before those deceitful rats can implement their campaign against Alexandria."

"What need has she of black mages? When have my knights ever failed Her Majesty?" Beatrix asked, her pride stung by the Queen's plans.

"Never, General, you will never fail; even as a damaged blossom you are lovely and terrible, but think, Rose, the mages will spare your knights. The mages will be on the front lines, drawing the attacks away from your troops." Beatrix's heart warmed to the idea, proud and worthy as her knights were, many of them would be lost in a siege, many of them would be injured. Why risk harming her knights in the front line needlessly if the mages could draw attack from them?

"Very well," she replied, fingering her sword's scabbard, "if such is the Queen's will."

"You are not as cold as you are purported to be, are you Rose General?" She turned away from him, ashamed that he had sensed a weakness in her, her care for her knights.

"I will keep you informed, General," Kuja said placing a hand on her shoulder. "It is but fitting that you should share in the planning of this siege, that you should continue to protect your Alexandria."

* * *

Beatrix was eating a quick meal in the knight's mess tent, set up outside of Burmecia, just far enough away from the city to be off the flood plains that were created by the constant rain. She chewed lumps of beef and vegetables quickly without tasting them, as one who eats only to refuel her body.

"Why are you so restless, General?" Kuja asked. She shuddered. How had she neglected to hear him approaching?

"Restless?" Beatrix asked, calmly eating her stew.

"I've seen you pacing the empty battlefield at dusk, tossing your hair and glaring into the rain, killing Ironites effortlessly with your mighty blade. It is a beautiful sight, but I suspect the reason for your unrest is that you feel that you lack challenge. Is that it? Beatrix of Alexandria, the best swords-mistress in all of Gaia, Beatrix, the Rose of May, who once killed one hundred knights single-handedly, not stopping to draw breath even when her eye was irrevocably damaged, is discontented because she finds herself without equal?"

"What do you want from me?" Beatrix asked, setting down her spoon irritably on the makeshift wooden table.

"I thought it was fairly obvious. I am offering you a challenge. Try to defeat me, Rose of May."

"_You _want to join _me_ in combat?" Beatrix laughed richly, tossing her glossy brown curls back from her face. "Very well, I accept, but I doubt it will be much of a challenge." She slid her bowl of stew aside and rose from the rough wooden bench she was sitting at, finally turning to face her slim, effeminate challenger.

"Let us fight then, Kuja, where do you suggest that this duel take place?"

"Why, where else, but at the scene of your next great triumph, General?" Kuja asked dramatically, sweeping out both of his arms and throwing his head back. His blue eyes were crackling with energy in a most alarming manner. Beatrix watched him and wondered for a moment. Perhaps he was not as weak and useless in combat as she imagined.

"My next great triumph?" She shook her head. "You don't mean this nest of rats, do you? Why should I consider defeating these Burmecian fools a triumph? The greatest of their Dragon Knights is no match for me; even without your black mages my knights could rid this city of its pestilence in less than a month." Beatrix frowned. She knew this was a poor defensive stance to take since the siege so far had lasted less than a week and already the Burmecians were broken and faltering, already the walls had been breached and they'd retreated to their stronghold. She knew that Kuja was mocking her by calling it her triumph. It was Kuja's triumph, as the Queen and everyone knew.

Morale was low among her troops as they felt their uselessness. Beatrix almost felt sorry for the Pluto knights now that she recognized what it was like to be so thoroughly outclassed that one felt obsolete. She was still powerful though. Beatrix was still the foremost knight in all of Gaia and she would not allow herself to be mocked by a pasty silk-clad weakling. Beatrix dug her fingernails into the wooden table behind her as she seethed inwardly.

Kuja stepped closer to her, so close that she could feel his breath stirring her hair. She tried to take a step back, but the bench pressed against her thighs.

"Do not underestimate your opponents, General," Kuja said softly. "'Twould be a pity to see you damaged because of carelessness." He stroked her hair, twining one of her curls about his finger. Her face burned. To be forced to submit to this indignity was unforgiveable. She slapped him and he staggered back holding his cheek. For a moment his eyes were dark with hate, but then he smiled.

"My rose is truly a thorny one indeed. At midnight, General, I will meet you outside the walls of Burmecia, tomorrow night. The full moon should light the battlefield for us."

"Melodramatic, always," Beatrix muttered. Kuja flipped his hair and his robes swirled as he pushed through the tent flap.

"You could use some drama in your life, Beatrix," he said, with a tinkling little laugh.

* * *

Beatrix shuddered as the smell of ozone filled the air and all of the hairs on her body stood on end. She watched the balls of shifting ultraviolet light pulse and twist between Kuja's hands. It was so beautiful. He was so beautiful with the pink and purple light washing delicately across his smooth, sharp features that could have been carved out of marble, no ivory, or soap stone, something that looked more fragile. But he was deadly.

Beatrix's magics were powerful, but they were designed to flow outward from her sword and even if they were made to hit multiple targets, all of those targets had faces. Beatrix would have to see the consequences of her power wrought on her victims in their battered, bleeding bodies because they would always be but a swords-length away.

Kuja's magics were faceless. They could strike multitudes. They were designed not for any kind of honourable combat, but to wipe out villages with a negligent flick of the wrist, to decimate the populations of cities, to blur the face of suffering until it was nothing but streaks of blood to be washed off of his immaculate white robes.

She thought perhaps she was dueling with Death himself. What had Brahne welcomed into her bosom? A viper to sink its fangs into the flesh of Alexandria, once it was through poisoning Alexandria's foes.

Kuja smiled at her, his lips the colour of violet petals in the light of the spell he was caressing between his hands. The light extended to limn the walls of the city, their iron fretworks gleaming purple sparks, the damp stones glistening purple drops and the lush growths of vine blossoming with pink and purple glimmers as though they had suddenly blossomed.

"Having second thoughts?" he asked slyly.

"Never," Beatrix responded, rushing towards him with her weapon extended. She managed to cut him before the spell burst upon her; she felt the blood oozing from her pores and imagined internal damage, organ failure. She used curing magic quickly, before neurological injury set in and she was no longer able to save herself.

Beatrix balanced carefully on her toes, cautious of her footing on the slick grass. She unleashed a flurry of sword and magic manoeuvres: Thunder Slash, Stock Break, Climhazzard, Shock. Again and again, Kuja countered with Flare. Beatrix felt her magic waning. She began to conserve her powers and to use them only for healing. Every inch of her flesh ached until she felt her fingers becoming numb, her sword becoming slippery in her grip, slippery with her blood and sweat. Kuja was still lit by the awesome pink and purple glow of the spells that seeped from between his fingers. His robes were damp with blood, but he continued to heal himself and showed no signs that his magic was weakening.

Beatrix's eyesight was becoming bad from repeated spell damage. She felt her guts churning at the fear of losing her sight completely. She remembered when they'd told her that her eye was lost, the horror she'd felt at first seeing the hollow cavity where it had once been, laced with an ugly red rope of scar. Her sword slipped between her fingers and fell with a muffles thud onto the rain-slick grass. Her scream echoed against the stone walls which surrounded the city and she cast Holy in a flash of brilliant white light.

Beatrix woke up to Kuja's face looming over hers; she watched the glowing wings unfurl across her chest and vanish. She'd died then. It had been awhile since that had happened. She'd grown weak it seemed without a worthy challenger to test her mettle. Kuja stayed there, leaning over her. She was too weak to push him away, too weak to even scream; she was, perhaps, to weak to even feel fear. She should have been afraid; fear was not the mark of a coward but the mark of a sensible person. Clearly, Beatrix had lost her senses.

Kuja's attenuated fingers brushed across her breasts as he brought them up to frame her face. They rested there like strange white roots, startling and feeble looking above the ground although they were actually strong enough to crack solid stone, given enough time to do their dark quiet work beneath the dirt. He could do it now; he could crush her face with those hands, Beatrix thought with a thrill. Her heart hurt in her chest from being mended so often in so short a period of time. Her body was not accustomed to such hard use. She was softer and whiter inside than those hands. It was fitting that she die like this, beaten down at the hands of a deceptively weak-seeming spell caster.

Kuja's face filled her vision, his lips and eyelashes brushing her skin as light and soft as air. Beatrix's newly mended nerves were sensitive to even such infinitesimal touches. Kuja knew. He had broken enough people to know how even his softest touches were excruciating now, she imagined.

"Why don't you kill me?" she whispered in his ear as he gathered her in his arms.

"I would sooner crush a rose in my fist," he replied, "thorns and all. Beautiful Rose," he continued, tracing her upper lip with his tongue. "I would rather keep you whole and train you to climb trellises for my garden. Gaia will be my garden and you will be my rose, won't you General?"

When she woke in her tent, Beatrix woke screaming, choking on the air; she licked her lips and swore she could still taste the taint there.


End file.
